Fresh in a pot of clay; and when you have used a
piece so long that it begins to grow dry, put it again into the pot, and
take out some fresh earth.[404]
Berchtold's suggestions for comfort are even more elaborate. One should
carry everywhere:
"A bottle of vinegar, de quatre voleurs.
Ditto best French Brandy.
Ditto spirit of Salmiac, against fits.
Ditto Hoffman's Drops."
At inns it is advisable to air the room by throwing a little strong
vinegar upon a red hot shovel, and to bring your bed-clothes with you.
As a guard against robbers it is advisable to have your servant sleep in
the same room with you, keep a wax candle burning all night, and look
into the chests and behind the bed before retiring. Pocket door-bolts in
the form of a cross are easily obtainable; if not, put the tables and
chair against the door.
There is something fussy about such a traveller, though robbers
undoubtedly were to be feared, even in the eighteenth century,[405] and
though inns were undoubtedly dirty. A repugnance to dirt and discomfort
is justifiable enough, but there is something especially peevish in the
tone of many Georgian travellers. Sam Sharp's Letters from Italy
breathe only sorrow, disillusion and indignation.
